


Table for Two

by natsubaki



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Banter, Complicated Relationships, Frenemies, Gen, Mind Games, Moral Ambiguity, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was merely a conversation between friends over coffee, the same as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for SMASH! Con 2015's Fanfiction Competition, Ficlet category (1000 words or less). The prompt was “What they do not realise—and what you must realise—is that manipulating others is something that all people do. In fact, manipulation is at the core of social interactions.” – Brandon Sanderson’s “Mistborn: The Final Empire” I've since tweaked it a little.

“I met someone today.”  
  
“Oh?” Tsukiyama leans forward, tracing fingertips across the table.  
  
Rize smiles sweetly as she sets her coffee cup upon its saucer and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. The cafe they’re at is loud, full of students and couples, businessmen and mothers on play dates with their children, so she waits until there is a lull in the surrounding buzz before she begins. “I happened to notice that we were reading the same book. He’s very sweet. In fact, we’re going on a date next week.”  
  
Tsukiyama returns a lopsided smile, one edge of his lips turning upward. “Is that all? _Che noioso_. Are you certain this little bookworm isn’t after your...finer assets?”  
  
Ever the gentleman, Tsukiyama’s eyes never stray from her face.

Rize’s smile becomes sharper.

She lightly pushes back her glasses at the corner. “You’re not exactly wrong. I’ve seen where his eyes go. But he enjoys the same authors as I do, so at least the conversation isn’t all that boring.” Pinching the handle of her cup between her index finger and thumb, she gently swirls its contents. Rize looks up at Tsukiyama through her lashes, her gaze setting just over the red frame of her glasses. “But, oh, he smells divine. And has just the right build.”  
  
Tsukiyama’s eyes flash. His smile now shows teeth. She has him—check. “And here I wondered if you were readying yourself to settle down.”  
  
Rize takes a sip of her drink before setting it down and leaning back in her seat. It’s an off day: the brew leaves a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. It’s a wonder that Tsukiyama continues to drink the swill.

She folds her hands over her stomach, interlacing her fingers. “I’m no old maid,” she teases. “But I’ll admit he’s quite the catch. So innocent and trusting. I bet he’ll taste as delicious as I expect him to be.  
  
“But enough about me,” Rize continues, suddenly sitting up. “How are your latest pursuits going?”  
  
Tsukiyama’s smile shifts fractionally, as though all the supports have collapsed from under it, yet it still stands. He takes in a deep breath. The air around them is muddled: too many clashing fragrances circulating among a hint of staleness. Rize bites back a laugh. “Ah, I’ve become smitten by a _mademoiselle_ with the most striking eyes,” he replies, almost sing-song.  
  
“Mm, sounds appropriate for our little gourmet. Will you be inviting her to dinner, or do you plan on dining alone this time? I’ve heard _so_ many stories about your little pet project.”

The grip on Tsukiyama’s cup tightens. Rize giggles, tips of her fingers pressed against her lips.

A waitress passes by. She smells like a flower field, ripe with sweet nectar. Both Rize’s and Tsukiyama’s gazes are drawn to her, and the grip on the cup across from Rize lessens.

She takes a mental note.

The waitress goes down the stairs. The spell is broken.

Tsukiyama crosses his arms and legs, tucks his chin in slightly. “I’m sure those stories aren’t _nearly_ as fascinating as the reports I’ve watched about you on the news,” he hisses. There’s a frown on his face that Rize doesn’t like.

“Oh? Am I famous?”

“‘Notorious’ or ‘infamous’ would be the better word,” he sniffs, eyes narrowed. “You’re eating too much. You need to be more selective. Or at the very least, a bit more discreet.”

A pair of humans sitting catty-corner to them stop mid-conversation. Rize can feel their nervous stares. She casts her eyes down, fidgets her hands in her lap. “That wasn’t very kind of you, Tsukiyama-kun,” she says, turning her lips into a tiny pout. “You know how I struggle with dieting…”

The stares are now directed at Tsukiyama. She wants to laugh out loud, but that would give her away. Tsukiyama at least has the dignity to look mortified.

She crosses her feet at the ankles and smoothes her dress across the tops of her thighs. “Don’t you worry about me, Tsukiyama-kun,” she trills, upbeat, shifting the mood. Drawing off the heat. “What’s life without a little bit of danger?”

“That stomach will be the end of you one day.”

“At least I’ll have my fill before then.”

Tsukiyama grows quiet. It’s unsettling. He’s staring out the window, a crease between his brows. Rize doesn’t know what he’s looking at. The couple from a moment ago leaves. Rize watches as they go. “It’s more fun to play with your food,” she says, more to fill the silence than for conversation. “Guiding them into a false sense of security, then pulling that rug from under them...doesn’t it make you tremble with excitement, Tsukiyama-kun?”

He looks up at her, but the silence continues. She runs her hands through her long hair, twirls the ends between her fingers. “Well. In any case, it’s a shame I won’t be able to enjoy this new delicacy more, but I have to eat him up before someone else snatches him away.”

That seems to shake Tsukiyama out of whatever mood he’d fallen into. “I’m intrigued,” he says, that lazy smile returning to his face, “Maybe you shouldn’t have told me. Maybe I’ll want a taste.”

Rize tuts, shaking one finger slowly. “Sorry, Tsukiyama-kun, but I never did learn to share. I also didn’t think such a _refined_ palate as yours would want the Binge Eater’s leftovers.”

She’d meant it as a jab, but instead of fury, Tsukiyama’s smile stretches. Predatory.

“Whoever said I’d let you finish your meal?”

She can feel the burn at the edges of her eyes, the small ticking of veins just above her cheekbones. Rize almost rises from her seat before Tsukiyama leans back, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Don’t worry, Kamishiro-san. I’m only playing.”

She wants to break his teeth, bust up the pretty little lips on his pretty little face. But instead Rize gives him a close-lipped smile, finishes the remainder of her bitter and now cold coffee, and agrees to meet him again at their table the next week.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll backdate this fic in about a month to reflect its submission date.


End file.
